Mystwalker 01: The Trouble with Fate

by Leigh Evans

  Another rap song ended. The new tune’s beat was more seductive, less in your face. A woman could move to the song. Sway to it like a cobra as men with glazed eyes and bomber jackets a size too small watched with appreciation that never peaked and never waned.

  “I want to go home.”

  Faced with a decision, I usually choose the most obvious solution.

  I followed the direction of my soles.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Suzy-Q swung around that pole like she was weightless. I might be able to do that, maybe, if someone showed me how. And if I had zero body fat. And if my hands were as strong as vise grips, and I wasn’t weighed down with clothing. Maybe if I wore a sateen string bikini top, a pair of abbreviated boy shorts, and a G-string, I could do it.

  Maybe.

  The club was a mixture of dark and light. The walls were black, and the furniture was drab colored. What light there was had been planned, thought out, and directed. Electric blue LED tubing outlined the bar and doorway to the can. Yellow beer logos flickered on the wall. A long bristling line of spotlights ringed the stage. They bathed the dancers’ flesh in a film of red.

  The bouncer was arguing with a stripper about VIP room tips. They didn’t turn, even as the cold air wafted into the hallway with me. I snuck up behind them and tucked myself into the shadow behind the fake fig tree by the doorway. Then, I slid sideways, hugging the back wall until I hit the end of the bar.

  It took a moment to get my bearings. The girls on stage had bills tucked into their string bikini bottoms, sticking out like frills on the sides of their hips. Most of the men wore baseball caps they hadn’t bothered taking off. I wondered if their necks hurt, staring up like that—I hoped that Trowbridge’s did.

  I checked the profile of each upturned face. Old and wrinkled, average and not, young and groomed, just-plain-ugly, not-so-ugly, ugly and fat, bored and not-so-old. None of the faces was his.

  A brunette was leaning on the bar, her arms folded, her bottom sticking out, talking to the guy sitting next to her. She wore a mostly see-through top that looked like it had been savaged by a T. rex. Her hair was tousled, a lot—the effect you get when you tease the shit out of it, hang it upside down, and spray it with half a can of hair spray.

  “You going to buy one of those for me?” The stripper may have been skinny, but the heels made her Amazonesque in height. I couldn’t see past her. She did another head toss, sending a waft of sweat and oversweet perfume my way. I rubbed my nose. He was here. Nearby.

  “Yeah, sure,” said my childhood crush.

  There he was—just past the skanky brunette. The only guy not facing the stage. His head was bent over the three shot glasses lined up on the bar. “One for the lady,” he said, lifting his eyes. Though he’d tipped his head sideways in the stripper’s direction, his gaze hadn’t moved toward her booty or the barmaid’s belly ring. He was studying his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Maybe she-with-the-tits-and-hair wouldn’t recognize it, but I, with the encyclopedia of Trowbridge facial expressions stored in my brain, knew what that blank stare meant: baby was feeling bleak. Good.

  I tapped the lap dancer on the shoulder. She had two deep lines running like brackets on either side of her mouth, and a pair of drawn-on eyebrows that were as mobile as her lips. The brunette looked down, took in the full glory of me and smiled.

  “Beat it,” I said.

  She laid a talon-tipped hand on her chest. “Excuse me?”

  “I need to talk to him. Go away.”

  Skanky-ass parked her butt on the edge of the barstool.

  In the instant it took to turn back to him, Trowbridge’s features had fallen blank. No “you’re back!” welcome on his lips, no heavy frown either. His face was stupidly still as he stared at me, like he’d been caught by a thought he hadn’t expected to reexamine and needed time to think it through before he made up his mind.

  He lifted one eyebrow just slightly.

  And with that, the world fell away. Yeah, yeah, the bar was still there—the bass-heavy music thumping loud enough to tickle my feet; the bar’s belly-twitching stink of sex, sex, sex, a loathsome miasma all around me, and somewhere beyond the golden glow surrounding my tousled-headed Were, I knew Suzy-Q was still twirling around her slick man pole—but we—Trowbridge and I—we went into that mortal world between worlds, where all the other irritants disappear and there’s nothing more than two thumping hearts, and souls singing.

  I can see you, Trowbridge. Right through your eyes. Pain and want. If your soul was mine to protect, I would hold it so tightly in my hands that even Mad-one’s couldn’t pluck it free. Irises rimmed with a ring of midnight blue. You’re as sad as me, as lonely … Oh my. I don’t know what he was reading in my glittering green eyes, but his pupils dilated, dark and wicked hot with what … I leaned in. What?

  And maybe that’s what did it. I got too close. Before I could figure out what message had confused the hell out of me with its throaty whisper, the idiot made up his mind. First, he bit down hard on his back molar, enough to make a muscle ugly-flex in his jaw, then he blinked.

  That’s all it took. Good-bye, Cupid.

  Trowbridge’s glance was quick and comprehensive. “A Barry Manilow T-shirt? Where’d you come up with that?” he asked me.

  I yearned to sink my teeth into his wet lower lip till he howled for mercy.

  “The car.” I lifted my chin. “Bob likes to be prepared. Do you want to talk here or outside?”

  The lights on the stage behind him turned from red to purple-pink. “The discussion’s closed.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the shadowed doorway. “Take off, kid. You should have been long gone by now.”

  “How about that drink, honey?” said the brunette.

  “Go away or lose those extensions,” I snapped.

  “Give us a minute, will you?” Trowbridge sent her a brief smile. Oh yeah, send a smile out to the cheap seats. “Then I’ll see about buying you a drink.” Even her ass looked sulky as she left.

  “Okay, I’ve been thinking,” I said. A lie, I’d been soul-traveling. But I’m always doing that, aren’t I? Lying to Trowbridge. Dropping balls.

  Trowbridge had gone back to studying the line of drinks in front of him. “It’s always good to try something new.”

  New is not always good. I briefly closed my eyes, and banished Threall. When I opened them he was studying me with his head tilted to one side. “I’ve been trying to come up with a plan that solves all my problems, but you know what? I’m not good at that. I’m good at finding things. Food. Jobs. Money for the rent. I haven’t had time for plans. I just run from problem to problem, plugging up holes the best I can. This time running isn’t the answer, and stealing isn’t going to work, because I don’t even know where to find Scawens’s Alpha.” I swallowed to loosen the knot in my tight throat. “Help me, Trowbridge.”

  “I have helped you.” With a small frown, he reached for the first of the three shots of Jack lined up on the bar. “You’re alive, wandering around the world spreading some more Stronghold bad luck. This is the last time I’m going to tell you. Get a box, put the piece in it, and send it to Creemore. Then take your round little ass as far away from here and me as possible.” He raised the drink in a salute and downed the glass’s contents in one gulp. “I’m done. You’re too much work. I’ve lost my invisibility, my van, and most of my cash. I’m down to my last pair of jeans.”

  But he still had his soul.

  “You keep showing up at the worst times of my life, but you never do much good, do you? You just take in the scenery and walk out again. How’s that feel?” I inhaled slowly through my nose, and steadied my voice. “I need help, Trowbridge. I need someone who can guide me through this. Someone who understands the Creemore pack intimately. Someone who knows the Alpha, and the way his mind works, and is strong enough to stand up to him.”

  The thin blue vein pulsed under his eye. Its beat was the only thing he couldn’t control. His mouth, his
eyes, even that telling muscle in his jaw, they had shut down, but he couldn’t control the flutter of the pulse under his skin. “Do I look suicidal? Give him what he wants. That’s all you can do.”

  “I can’t.” It came out the way it felt: near desperate.

  He toyed with the second glass, spinning it in a circle, before he asked, “Why not?”

  “Because he has Lou!” I said, sharper than I meant to. I put a steadying hand to my stomach. Fire. My stomach was on fire.

  “Lou? I thought his name was Billy-Bob?”

  “I can’t give the Alpha what he wants. You told me he’s a stone-cold killer, and that means he won’t make a trade. He’ll just tidy up the scene. I’m not ready to die, and I’m not ready to give up Lou. There’s got to be some chance of a rescue without both of us dying. You know the Alpha. You know the pack. You’ve spent all those years watching your father guide it. You’ll know what to expect, and you can help me come up with a plan.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “My family was innocent and I hold your pack responsible for their deaths.” My Were shifted closer to my spine. “You owe me justice.”

  “Grow up. Your father and mother’s union was an abomination to the Weres. You’re lucky no one tried to take the family out earlier.”

  “No. We were under the Alpha’s protection. You said so yourself.” I studied his unyielding face and then said in a hard voice, “If you can’t be Robbie Trowbridge anymore, can’t you at least be Jacob Trowbridge’s son?”

  “Get out.”

  A less desperate girl would have stood back from those eyes, would have noted the tension in his pose, and taken herself right out of that bar. “Strongholds hold.” I was Benjamin Stronghold’s daughter and I wasn’t folding. I leaned into his personal space, and made it my own. “You want to explain your eyes? Huh? The whole Alpha thing? You flare Alpha blue. Only the Alpha is supposed to do that, right? You’re a bloody searchlight of blue. Your body knows what you are, Robson Trowbridge. It recognizes you. You’re the true Alpha of Creemore. When are you going to recognize it?”

  Deliberately, he washed any emotion from his eyes—you’re too good at that, Trowbridge—and reached for the last shot. “I was stupid to ever come back.”

  “Then why did you? Just to catch up with old friends? You’re sitting alone in a strip bar and the thing you’re ogling isn’t a pair of tits—it’s a row of shots.”

  “I’m not going to lift a hand when that bouncer throws you out.” He tipped his head back and swallowed. “I have a life, a job, a business outside of all this. I’ve built something. I’m sitting in a strip joint because it’s handy, not a habit.”

  “Are you sure about that? That it’s not fate,” I said, staring hard at his face, his stubborn, remote face. “Fate that you walked into my Starbucks just when I needed you?”

  He gave that upward half-sided jerk of the head that looks like someone’s just pulled his ear. “Look, I don’t believe in fate and fairy ta—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “I’m not a prince who’ll fix everything with a sword and kiss.” He lowered his voice to a growl. “I’m Rogue. I like it that way. I’m partial to my neck, and I’m not going to risk it rescuing another one of your boyfriends. I’m sorry, kid, but sometimes you just have to accept your losses.”

  “Lou isn’t my boyfriend. Lou’s my aunt.”

  His expression froze. “Your aunt,” he repeated, in a hiss. “She’s Fae, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “You told me the portals were closed.”

  “They are. I wasn’t lying about that.” He’d gone Were again. If he had fur, his ruff would be standing up around his ears. “Aunt Lou was still in this realm when the Fae slammed the Gates of Merenwyn shut. She tried to go back, but she couldn’t find a portal that would answer her call. When the mages sealed the entrances to their world, they locked her out.”

  Blue lights were starting to glimmer in his eyes. “And it never occurred to you to tell me this before?”

  “You would have thought she was guilty of something, and she’s not,” I replied, trying not to blink.

  “Let me guess: she wouldn’t ever endanger you.”

  “She wouldn’t have done anything to hurt my mum.” A wash of heat warmed the base of my throat. “They were sisters. Close.”

  “Close enough to tell each other secrets?”

  “Will you just try to understand? Just for once, don’t go all Were on me.” My amulet protector stirred against my breast. “Not now, Merry.” I took a steadying breath, and continued, “You’ve got to understand. She found me that night. I can’t leave her. She’s dying.”

  “How powerful is her magic?” The lights in his eyes were no longer glints; they were spinning little spits of electric blue, sparking in the gloom.

  I broke eye contact. Over his shoulder a girl was hanging upside down from her stripper pole; the only thing keeping her airborne was one crossed knee. “All her talent, everything she had; it’s all gone.”

  “Can she open the portal?”

  “No!” At my sharp reply, Merry started to pull herself up toward the opening of my blouse. I gave her a not-so-delicate push back into my cleavage and fixed Trowbridge with a glare. “She couldn’t do it even when she was strong and had access to my amulet. She tried. Lou dragged me from portal to portal for days trying.”

  “Unbelievable,” he said. “You realize that you just admitted to me that you know all the portals in the Alpha’s territory? Do you know how lucky you are that you spilled that information to someone who doesn’t give a shit?”

  I stared at him for a second and then said, “You’re flaring, Trowbridge.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a couple of seconds. There was a ripple over his body, and then when he opened them again, his face was set, and his eyes were Trowbridge blue. “We can’t take another war. Forget the death toll, the fallout will be worse. It wouldn’t be long before some yahoo with a cell phone saw something he shouldn’t, and posted his clip on the Web. Enough of those videos stirring up fear, and it would be back to the Dark Ages. Except this time the assholes will have guns.” He brooded at the men ringing the stage, his mouth turned down. “It wouldn’t be the odd nut-job either. It would be everyone. We’d be hunted again with everything from BB guns to AK-47s.”

  “I’d steal Lou back if I knew where she was,” I said in exasperation. “I thought all the Alpha wanted was the amulet.”

  “Which is why you came looking for me.” He leaned back in his seat. “How’d you know I had one?”

  “You had it around your neck when you came through the kitchen door. You were still wearing it when you walked into my Starbucks. Who was the geezer with you?”

  “You were at Starbucks?” There was a screw-you glint in his eye, before he lowered his attention to the empty glass in his hand. He spun it. It made eight revolutions before he came to a decision. “All right, I’ll take care of this. Give me the amulets.”

  “No,” I said.

  “It wasn’t a question, it was an order.”

  I expressed my utter terror with a smothered snort. “And what will you do with them?”

  He pushed out his chair. “Destroy them.”

  “I don’t think so.” He’ll thank me for saving his soul later. I let the gun hang from my fingers for a moment, acknowledging its weight. Blew some air up at a strand of hair tickling my cheek. Then I stepped back from the bar, and pointed it at him.

  “You can’t have Merry and you need to come with me.” I felt my eyes flare and knew them to be flashing sparks of green fire.

  “Jesus, you don’t bring out a gun in a—”

  “Gun!” shrieked Legs.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Trowbridge said, holding his hands up. “She’s going to put it away and leave.” He whipped his head back to me, and lifted up his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “Make me.”

  Which, as it happens, is
the wrong thing to say in a strip bar.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There had been an instant, before flying fists turned into flying bullets. Just a tiny instant when my hand was caught in the nest of the brunette’s hair, and I had glanced up, and saw him. Not as Robbie, or the Were. Not even as Trowbridge. Just a beautiful man in glorious prime, who was weaving effortlessly around the bouncer and some other guy who had stepped up to get an ass whipping.

  “Come on, you slow bastards.” He caught my gaze, just after his head had tilted out of the way of a blow. Over the bouncer’s shoulder, he grinned. A flash of white teeth in a pirate’s beard.

  Happy. The stupid man was happy until some movement over my shoulder caught his attention. His face changed from happy to furious. That fast. The stripper with the bar stool never got to use it on my spine. He was there, and then she was flying through the air. And then he glanced back at me with a look I knew very well.

  I was so surprised, I shot him.

  * * *

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said. “The gun went off in my hand.”

  “That’s what they always say,” said Trowbridge sourly. “‘Officer, the gun just went off in my hand.’”

  “Why don’t you save your breath to heal?” I tenderly touched my head. Winced. “Why’s it always my head?”

  “You’re lucky,” he replied. “It’s the hardest part of you.”

  “That’s why I aimed for your ass,” I snapped back. He narrowed his eyes on me. He did that a lot, training his eyes on me like I was some sort of prey. I bent my head and stared at him through the open car window. “Why aren’t you healing? You were shot at the Laundromat. That bullet didn’t cause you this much trouble.”

  “The last slug just blew through me. In and out of the soft tissue. This one hit the bone. Feels like it’s stuck.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.” He tried to shift positions in the car seat. He stifled a groan for my benefit, just because I was vertical and he was mostly not. “Okay, dial the phone and then pass it to me.”